


Reunion

by maldraxxus-official (mechadogmarron)



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Blizzard plz, Canon-Compliant, Family Fluff, Gen, Maldraxxus (Warcraft), Reunions, no beta we die like vol'jin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-12 23:13:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29642145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mechadogmarron/pseuds/maldraxxus-official
Summary: A small party of adventurers saved Thrall from his torment at the hands of the Jailer. One of them thinks Draka should probably know.
Relationships: Draka & Thrall (Warcraft)
Kudos: 13





	Reunion

"Baroness?" 

Draka turned to regard one of the mortals — a Worgen priest. Like most of his kind, he rarely spoke to her, generally flitting between the Forge of Bonds and the Command Table with little regard for upper leadership. "Yes?"

"You have a son, yes?" His voice wavered; he seemed unconfident. It was unbefitting of a Maldraxxi warrior, but he _was_ a living creature. 

"Yes, and what of it? I don't believe he's come to Maldraxxus. I can only hope he rests in a peaceful and loving realm." Her people were proponents of honorable combat, yes, but he had just been a baby.

"He yet lives."

Her breath caught. She was glad that Vashj was not present. It did no good to show weakness. "Then may he live long. Why are you telling me this, mortal?"

"He is among the eminent figures of Azeroth. He was brought to Torghast, and a party of us mortals retrieved him. When he was in Oribos, he mentioned you. I thought you might want to know."

She did not shudder involuntarily; years of training had left very little of her body to its own devices. But she _wanted_ to react, wanted to show a moment of weakness at the thought of her baby boy in the Jailor's cruel clutches. Never had she imagined he would survive. That he was a hero, an eminent figure, a leader — well, it made a mother proud. But it was not worth his suffering. "Tell me, mortal. Do you have children?"

"No. If I did, I never would've become an adventurer. Jumping into the Maw is terrifying enough without knowing that there's someone waiting for me back in Azeroth."

"Then you wouldn't understand what this means to me. I love my son. I want him to know peace and happiness. I am glad for the news you've brought me, that my boy yet lives. Maldraxxi soldiers recognize the importance of our mortal lives, of the bonds we once knew." The Necropolis's navigators were evidence enough of that. "My line is powerful and brave, overcoming. Like all orcs. But Torghast is a horrible place. To think my son was there..." 

"He seemed in good spirits last I saw him. He told me he hoped you rested in a land of peace and beauty." 

She smiled, despite herself. "My soul could never be satisfied with such a thing, but it is a kind sentiment. He must be an interesting man, to have such a gentle attitude in such a cruel world. Is he well? Is he recovering?"

"Yes, but the experience weighs heavy on his mind. He fears his ancestors suffer as he does, that all of his people might be condemned. Torghast is a den of man's worst nightmares. I don't know exactly how to articulate it, but I wouldn't wish it on even the Banshee Queen." He spat the name. "That so many of my kinsmen who found a new home among the elves must suffer there fills my soul with rage. That such thing has been allowed to exist is proof of a sort of cosmic injustice." 

"You should be careful what you say." Draka regarded him evenly. "Torghast is not a new thing; even in the days of the Arbiter, some were consigned to the Maw. But I can empathize. As for my son..." She was not a weak-hearted woman. She would not cry. But it was _gutwrenching_ to think of that baby boy suffering. The only peace she had known with the Arbiter's disappearance was that her boy had died long before, that he would not be condemned without her. "I cannot help as much as I'd like. Maldraxxus is bigger than me, bigger than my love for my boy. But I'll have Nalcorn provide you our finest work. No more souls must suffer." 

"I appreciate it, but I didn't come to request aid." The worgen coughed, awkward. "Your son... He is scared. He is struggling. He is adrift in a strange land. I am no fan of the Horde, but he left them before I even came to join the Alliance. I want to help him. I want to bring him to see you." 

The world froze. "Will it bring him peace? To know I fight eternally, that my soul cannot rest?"

"I think that's the wrong attitude. One who comes to Maldraxxus is meant to be here. Your soul would know no rest in a realm of peace; here, you might do what you love, what gives you strength. I can only hope the Arbiter, if restored, finds the same future appropriate for me and my sister." He smiled. "Since the beast woke in me, my heart sings only when my claws draw blood. For years I couldn't even cast a simple holy spell. Though I've learned the discipline to see both sides of the coin, it is a struggle."

"I know all of that. Don't waste my time. My question is whether my _son_ understands that."

"You could explain it. He's considered one of the greatest earth-workers of all Azeroth; if he can understand the elements, he can understand the nature of the Shadowlands." 

The sound of scales. Vashj was returning. "I will not bring him into the Seat of the Primus. Bring him to the Theater of Pain, to the walls, where we might watch the combat." Where the roar of the arena would cover up sensitive conversation from prying ears. There was no privacy in Maldraxxus, only places where a bold soul might be honest. And the remaining Eyes were unlikely to send anyone to watch her watch mortals take on Azmogal. 

The worgen nodded. "Thank you."

"I should say the same to you."

###

The Theater was the same as it ever was. It had been good luck Vole had sided with the Necrolords and not the Chosen. She stood atop the ramparts, waiting. What would her boy be like? What sort of man had he become? A shaman, she knew that much, and apparently something of a kind spirit. No matter. He could be a sickly beggar and she would love him. 

Footsteps approached. Only one set. Not assured like a Maldraxxi warrior; uncomfortable, but brave. She turned and saw him once more for the first time. The countenance of a mighty warrior, an axe on his hip. The beads around his neck identified him as a shaman, but he carried himself like a fighter, not a mystic. Anyone would've been proud to call him a child. 

"My son," she said, unsure of how to act.

"Mother." He seemed just as uncertain. The mortal had not accompanied him; it was just the two of them, and the endless space of dozens of years and the border of life and death between them. "It is... it is good to meet you."

"My boy. My beautiful boy. My Go'el."

Something flashed across his face. "I have come to be known as Thrall. If you wish to call me by the name you would have given me, I will not ask you to stop, but—"

"Thrall?" A harsh name, a cruel name. But when she spoke it, a little tension seemed to drain from his shoulders. _His_ name. "Thrall. There's a story there, isn't there?"

"A long one. One I hope I can tell you of, sometime. It is the name I bore when I became a hero, the name I bore when I freed my people. It is the name that carries the weight of how I was raised and what I became. I feel stronger in the elements when I hear it."

"Then it is an honorable name. A true orc builds himself from whatever roots he is given."

"Thank you." He still looked surprised. She could only wonder why, at who had told him otherwise. No one should have known the name he would've given him, unless perhaps a shaman was able to divine such a truth, but that they would try to push it on them... She shook her head. She couldn't judge her people for who they had become, but in her day, a warrior could call himself whatever he liked, if he had the strength to challenge anyone who might say otherwise. "We can speak of that later."

"Of course." She looked around. None of the Constructs would judge her for family; Alexandros wouldn't, either. That Vashj would was a sign of _Vashj's_ weakness, not Draka's. "May I—"

"Yes."

She reached out to hug him. If anyone had a problem with the affection that thrummed in her veins, the relief at seeing her baby boy safe, she would rip the spine from their body. A fitting punishment. 

He was warm in her arms, alive, breathing, with a heartbeat. She could've been with him for so many years. Could've raised him, seen him through his trials, taught him how to be a Frostwolf, privately shed a few tears when he found a woman of his own. Was he married? Did she have grandchildren? He was alive, beautiful, powerful, perfect. She would probably never see him again — he didn't carry himself like a man whose soul would be bound to Maldraxxus. This moment would have to be enough. She would not let herself regret it. 

"Tell me about yourself," she said, and he complied. 

**Author's Note:**

> god let me not have fucked up thrall's lore. you can tell I play Alliance. 
> 
> Blizzard, please give me the mother-son reunion I crave!


End file.
